My Any Thing
by somekindafreaky
Summary: Post X3, Pyro runs into Kitty who has apparently run away from the institute. But why, why is she so on edge and why does she want to stick so close to him, of all people? Kyro
1. Prologue

This began as a challenge on Phase & Fire, a kyro fanfiction LiveJournal community. Except... it sort of turned into a great big action/adventure story! Or, it will do. The challenge criteria were:

A new pair of shoes

A hesitant smile

The colour blue

A fire that fizzles out

The phrase 'that's the stupidest thing I ever heard'

All these things can be found in either the prologue or the first chapter.

By the way, I got 'My Any Thing' from a Shakespeare quote. 'The Taming of the Shrew', to be more precise. That is only very, very slightly significant to this story, but significant nonetheless ;)

**Prologue**

It was the twelfth of January; the day most people commit suicide, or most couples split up, or some silly statistic along those lines. The most depressing day of the year, in short.

John could believe it. What he didn't believe was that half of those people who killed themselves or finished with their significant others had seen anything like what he had. Fire, consuming everything. His home, the people he had once called his friends, all burning. The only hope he had, all wrapped up in one man, dying at the end of a needle.

It was hard to distinguish the memories from the nightmares now. They were interchangeable.

But what was worse? His situation then or now? Fighting alongside Magneto hadn't exactly been the life he had envisioned for himself as a child, before his mutation had developed. But it had been exhilarating; there was no doubt about that. And he had felt almost worth something.

Now, what had he to fight for? Survival, that was about the extent of it. Food and shelter was all he might strive for. He was on the streets again, as he had been before the X-Men had taken him in.

It wasn't as though he hadn't considered going back to them, as much as he hated the thought of crawling back on his belly. At least it wouldn't be an empty belly. But they would turn him in; he was a wanted man, the sidekick to the criminal mastermind Magneto. At least, he would be wanted if the police knew to search for him. They considered him dead; as well they might considering the last known sight of him was as an unconscious body on Alcatraz. He preferred it that way. All he had to do was keep his head down, and his lighter hidden.

What irony! He had been one of the few, the only, as far as he knew, of Magneto's crew to escape with both his life and his power; and now he couldn't use it for fear of being identified as a mutant – _that_ mutant. The only times he had succumbed to the temptation, the **need** to manipulate the flame, was when he was tucked away in a back alley somewhere in the dead of night, and in desperate need of heat.

Now it was the afternoon, and a bitter, frosty one at that, and he was curled up in a doorway with two other homeless men, both around middle-age. The sky was the sort of blue that reminded him of the Arafura Sea in the winter, all those years ago in Australia. Storming and hardly blue at all, but grey and grim.

He watched the people hurry past, coat collars turned up against the chill, all on their way home from work.

But there was one girl who was not on her way home. Could not be, because he knew that her home lay in the opposite direction.

His back stiffened and his shoulders tensed. One of the other men glanced at him, and then went back to dozing.

It had been how long since he had seen her? Months, weeks, days? He had no notion of how much time had passed since that fateful day. She had looked different in battle clothes, he remembered that much. He had recalled her as the virginal pre-teen who outshone everybody else in class and had a slightly whiny voice, and she had shown up a young woman in black leather.

Now she was neither combatant nor classmate. What she was to him now, who could say? Certainly they had never been good friends, and surely they had been enemies. Now he was a vagrant and she a… runaway?

That was indeed the obvious assumption to make. A sixteen-year-old girl with an anxious face and an enormous rucksack, trying to keep her gaze on the ground.

It would have been quite easy to let her go on her way. Perhaps she was on her way to a bus station, with the intention of visiting her family's home in Illinois, or even moving back there permanently. But John had a sudden and strong itch to get up and speak to her. Probably for the sole reason that she was one person who knew who he really was. She was a mutant, like him. And even though she had been fighting against him and what stood for, in the end, according to the rule he had lived by, didn't that make her better than the rest?

She had taken a seat awkwardly on a bench on the other side of the road, and her eyes were darting all over the place. Everything about her screamed that she was agitated, tired and frightened. She was a wreck. He remembered her being quiet, yes, but always with a spark in her eyes and an eager, enthusiastic disposition. Now her fire had fizzled out to become shadow under her eyes.

Somehow she missed seeing him until he was beside her, and when he spoke she gave a start like no other, actually half-phasing through the bench. Fortunately she recovered and returned to a normal sitting position when she realised a) who it was, and b) that she was in a public place. Even more fortunate was that none of the passers-by seemed to notice.

"Well, well, if it isn't Kitty Pryde."


	2. Moving In

**Moving In**

How it had come to this, he had no clue. The day he would be moving in with Kitty Pryde. Years ago, at the institute, he would have burst out laughing. Months ago, with Magneto, he would have taken offence. A day ago, he would have laughed again.

But there he was. Eight o' clock in the evening on the twelfth of January, opening the door to their new apartment.

In a way, he had been taken in at her first word.

…

"_Pyro!" she breathed, her fists clenching at her sides, ready to spring into battle mode despite her visible fatigue. _

_He merely stood and regarded her, successfully hiding the thrill that went through him at being addressed as such. _

"_What do you want?"_

_He could see the cogs in her mind turning at lightening speed. "Nothing. Can't an old school friend pop by to say hello?" he grinned._

"_You…" her eyes narrowed, "what are you doing here?"_

"_Could ask the same of you, Kitty-Kat," he sat down beside her, propping an ankle casually on the opposite knee and quickly assessing her. She looked trite and hackneyed in her hair and expression, yes, but her clothes were still of that same childlike, preppy style and moderately clean. Her trainers were not only not scuffed but looked fresh out of the box. He could still smell soap on her (you learn to distinguish that kind of thing after living on the street). It was clear she hadn't been away from the mansion long. _

"_It's nothing to you," she replied stiffly._

"_True."_

_There was silence. He could see her scanning him up and down too, quickly weighing him up._

"_Are you cured?" she asked. _

_He flinched, and realised he wasn't sure what the best answer was. So for once he settled on the truth. "No."_

…

Kitty poked her head around John to see, as he was still standing there holding the door open. You couldn't say joy washed over her face, but there was definitely relief.

She ducked under his arm and took a few paces in, before spinning around and plastering a hesitant smile on her face. "It's great. Thanks."

The landlord inclined his head half-heartedly in acknowledgement. "You need any help with your stuff?"

"No," John replied, turning to face him. They had only what they carried on them – in his case, a few items of clothing, some books he had somehow hung onto over the years, and his lighter. It was all he needed.

"Rent's collected first of every month," shrugged the man.

"You don't mind if we stay here tonight?" Kitty asked worriedly.

"What? Nah, it's your place. Do what you want, so's long as you don't disturb th'others. Bathroom's down there."

After he had gone, John turned to Kitty, who was looking him up and down again.

"What?"

"…You might want a shower."

…

_After concluding that, despite the power he still had, Pyro was no immediate threat, Kitty had offered to buy him a coffee._

_He was surprised, to say the least. At school, they had barely spoken. Last time they had come across one another, he had been trying to kill her friends. Now, she was buying him coffee._

_But when you've been homeless for … some time… and someone offers you a free, warm drink, (particularly when you know that person has nothing to do with drugs or the white slave trade), you damn well don't refuse. _

_He caught the astonished and covetous stares of the two men still slouched in the doorway across the road, as he followed a pretty young girl into a warm café. He couldn't resist giving them a smirk, conceited show-off as he was. _

…

The bathroom wasn't bad. Well, it was clean (enough), contained a functional toilet, sink, shower and lock… it was downright paradise, even if they did have to share it with everyone on that level of the building. Infinitely better than an alleyway he had to share with any other hobos or stray dogs that came along. As for the hot water coursing over him – he shut his eyes in relish and sighed. If nothing else, for _this_ he would be grateful that he accepted Kitty's second proposal after coffee.

…

"_I'm not gonna beat around the bush. I think we should get a room together."_

_He very nearly spat his coffee all over her. But even in his shock, it occurred to him that that would be a waste, and he forced himself to swallow the scalding mouthful in one go. It also gave him a second or so to come up with a sensible reply before he had to answer._

"…_What!"_

"_I… I… I don't mean like a _room_, like a hotel room, or, or… I mean an apartment."_

_That was, if it were possible, an even less believable suggestion._

"_What the fuck are you talking about, Kitty?" he stared at her._

_She went a bit pink under his gaze, and was probably beginning to regret ever bringing it up. Of course she didn't want to live with him – she wasn't completely crazy. Or was she? He gave her another sceptical once-over._

"_I'm serious. It makes sense."_

_At least she was rational in her speech patterns – it was just the content in its context that sounded absolutely delirious. _

"_That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. There is nothing about it that makes sense," he took another long drain of his coffee, and had to admit to himself that the sensation was worth listening to this lunatic talk for a while. _

"_No, think about it. I need a place, you need a place. I can't get a place cause I'm too young. You can't get a place cause you have no money."_

_He couldn't help it – his eyes sidled over to her though his head didn't turn from facing the bar at which they sat. "You have money?"_

…

Returning to their apartment freshly washed and shaved (he had been forced to use his pocket knife, resulting in more than a few nicks on his chin and cheeks), John could not fight down the feeling of content that he wallowed in.

Considering their situation, Kitty had done a pretty fine job in procuring them a home. All she had was what she had saved, and what her father sent to her bank account every month by way of an allowance. Now that they had a permanent residence, either of them in theory could get a job. Until then, they were effectively pretty poor.

But this place was not too bad. It was in no shadow of a doubt better than John's previous living arrangements. As for Kitty, it would likely be more difficult for her to adjust, having lived all her life in first a middle-class suburban house and then a huge mansion. Poor thing.

She sat on the sofa staring at the opposite wall, blankly, turning her head only a fraction when he entered. What she was thinking, he had no idea.

John would have been satisfied with merely working electricity and running water. They had to share the bathroom with other residents, but they actually had their own phone line and even a tiny fridge and microwave in the corner that appeared to be designated a kitchen. There was a modest-sized living area, and a door into the one bedroom. Upon inspection, it contained an ancient iron-bedstead that might have come from a prison or hospital, but hey, a real-life _mattress_ (he had to try hard not to look excited at that) and a rickety old chest of drawers. It was into this Kitty had placed her possessions – leaving the bottom drawer, he noticed, free for his own use. That was sorta nice of her.

The only other furniture was the old sofa Kitty was now sat on, an old armchair, a coffee table and a few wooden chairs at the counter in the 'kitchen'.

John was not complaining.

…

"_Hell no am I living with you," he tried not to gape, still not quite having got over the stun of it. _

"_Why?" she seethed._

"_A better question: why do you want me to?"_

"_I've already explained," Kitty huffed. "I need someone over eighteen for legal reasons, and stuff."_

_It was the 'and stuff' that bothered him. "No, that doesn't explain it," John sighed, draining his coffee. Immediately she called to the waitress for a refill. He wasn't going anywhere for a while. "Why did you leave?"_

"_Maybe for the same reasons you did," she replied uneasily._

_He severely doubted that. "Why don't you go to your parents?"_

"_I have my reasons," she snapped, and he wondered, not for the first or last time, just why Kitty Pryde was in the position she was in._

…

"You want the bed?" he offered reluctantly. Even a dog like him could see that she deserved it. After all, she was paying for the whole endeavour.

"No, you have it," she said faintly. He suspected it was an automatic response tuned by years of training in good manners.

Still, who was he to argue? "Fine."

He turned towards the bedroom, looking forward – something he hadn't done in a while – to sleeping in a proper bed again.

"We'll take turns," she suddenly called after him, and he paused, but didn't turn, a small smile crossing his face.

…

"_Let me worry about having to live with you – you only have to live with me, and I reckon I'd be an alright roommate."_

_He was not convinced, but this coffee tasted pretty good. It was four o' clock and already dark outside. If Kitty wanted to drag this out, he would let her._

"_You get a warm place to live – free, until you get a job and can start paying – and I'll get the food and things… you have nowhere else to go."_

_When she put it like that…_

…

He stared at the ceiling in the dark for a minute or so. The mattress was fairly lumpy by Xavier's standards in all likeliness, but heavenly on his sore back. He was currently using a rolled-up shirt as a pillow and his leather jacket as a blanket, and it was cold – there was a radiator over on that wall, but it wasn't on – he would have to see someone about that – but he was still gloriously at ease compared to the nights he had spent recently.

And yet his mind was not savouring the feeling as much as he felt it should. Instead it was on the other side of the door, with a young girl curled up on the sofa. He had listened to her crying softly earlier, but hadn't gone to her. What manner of comfort was he? They were both better off, practically if not psychologically, pretending that he couldn't hear her. Now she was silent, and probably asleep.

That question again pervaded his thoughts. Why on _Earth_ was she there, and more importantly, _with him?_

There was only one reason he could think of for her wanting his presence, other than of course the possibility of this whole thing being an elaborate trap. That seemed unlikely.

But no, the only logical explanation for her asking him to move in with her seemed fairly obvious. And yet it simply raised more questions. For example, she had plenty of other people to turn to for that same favour.

And of course, if she did want him for protection, protection _from what? _


	3. Getting Settled

I am soo sorry for the ridiculous amount of time it took me to get this chapter done. I've no idea why. And after all this it's really just a nothing-much-happens-bridging chapter. Trust me, the next one will have much more excitement and/or romance!

2

John woke up rather dazedly, and gloriously slowly. He had never slept so well in as long as he could remember. It didn't matter that he was in a bed and couldn't remember how he had got there, since he was pretty sure last time he checked he was living rough.

He fumbled for the watch he somehow hadn't got round to pawning, and saw that it was nearly midday. He had slept for more than twelve hours, having finally dropped off at around eleven the previous night. And he felt like he could sleep another twelve hours in this bed. Clearly his body wanted him to compensate for all those sleepless and uncomfortable nights.

But there was something more tempting than sleep awaiting him. The smell was strong and ambrosia to his nose.

If he wasn't much mistaken, pancakes.

Possibly he was dreaming.

He stumbled up and to the door, practically falling through it and only regaining balance by gripping the doorframe.

"Morning," said a sweet, feminine voice from the corner. His eyes followed the sound and rested upon a freshly showered and dressed Kitty Pryde, smiling uncertainly at him and holding a plate enticingly out before her.

That was it then. He was definitely dreaming.

Might as well make the most of it. He went unsteadily towards her and flopped down in a chair, staring at the fare she had set in front of him. A pancake, with two fried eggs for eyes, a strip of bacon for a smiley mouth, and a rapidly-melting small square of butter for a nose.

Very Kitty Pryde.

"I think I might have gone overboard at the store," she said somewhat sheepishly, taking a seat a few feet from him and passing a glass of orange juice. "I've never really bought food for myself… I sort of forgot we were on a budget."

Hey, it was her money. He had never looked upon such an alluring meal. Tired as he was, he had wolfed it down in less than a minute. As soon as he was done, Kitty had whisked the plate out from under him and deposited it in the sink. Immediately she started washing up.

He watched her from behind, and knew she knew he was watching her, because her spine was rigid though she made a point of not acknowledging him.

"…Thanks for that," he said at last.

She gave a slightly nervous nod. He had the feeling she was involving herself so in the housework because she didn't really know what else to do with herself. He decided to leave her to it and stood up, making to go and get dressed, aware that his only wearing boxers was probably not making her any more comfortable.

"Oh—" she turned and faltered when he looked at her. "I got some other things too… I didn't know what you might need…"

His eyes fell on the bag on the countertop, which he picked up without looking inside. "Yeah. Cheers."

Once in the bedroom he went through its contents. There was a razor – for which he was glad – some deodorant – a hint, maybe? – and a toothbrush and paste.

He set the bag down again, staring at nothingness. Things might have made more sense in the morning, after a good night's sleep, but for all intents and purposes he was as in the dark as ever before. Kitty had given him a home, a bed, a very nice breakfast and now this. Her motives for any of it were as yet unclear.

Having dressed, he shifted aside the frayed curtains and took in the view. It was not particularly impressive. They were on the building's fourth floor and all this window offered was the sight of more grey concrete apartment and office buildings.

It was not in fact a bad area that Kitty had found – she had already been looking into this place when she made the pitch to him yesterday, only had been unable to move in on her own, being underage. It was not rich or expensive, mostly because it was a fair distance from the city centre, but neither was it as dangerous as the last neighbourhood he had called his own.

Back in the main room, he found Kitty hard at work again, this time with cushions.

Granted as he had been gone for about fifteen minutes, she had achieved significantly with the place's appearance. Apparently her trip to buy food had also entailed excursions elsewhere. There was now a patchwork quilt draped over the sofa, which hid most of the faint stains, and the cushions she was now fluffing did the rest. A photograph of some flowers hung on the wall where he remembered there had been a bit of a crack in the plaster. In the kitchen he saw the cutlery he had used earlier which was also new if plain and cheap, and a kettle was now plugged in too.

There wasn't an awful lot left for him to do.

"I'm gonna go see that landlord about the heating," he resolved at last.

That took about fifteen minutes. He found the landlord fairly easily, glued to the TV in the building's reception area. The man pulled his eyes away long enough to promise to look into it, but John doubted it would get done before the Batman and Robin rerun finished.

He made his way back to the apartment slowly. Kitty was there, shouldering her rucksack.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to do some laundry," she answered. "I took some of your clothes, I hope you don't mind."

If she wanted to do his dirty laundry she was welcome to it. He hadn't worn a freshly washed shirt for a dreadfully long time.

As she walked past him, looking almost reluctant to leave, he wondered at what point things had become so _domestic_ that he was worrying about laundry. Probably at some time between moving in last night, and now.

But he figured it was better than worrying about where your next meal was coming from.

"And I'm gonna go for a walk," he said just as she left, and she nodded to show that she had heard him.

He took a random route once outside, not knowing this area at all. And as he trudged past a seemingly endless stream of identical grey box buildings, he decided there was little point in trying to get to know it.

Was this what his life was going to be like, from now on? He would get a dead-end job in a factory or something, coming home every night to Kitty. At least their breakfasts would be smiling.

Kitty was an enigma. She never had been before. He remembered her as one of the least complicated kids at an institute where everyone had a story to tell. She was the embodiment of Xavier's ideals and romantic hopes. She had been a genius too, with every prospect of a pretty good life before her, aside from the whole mutant thing. John could sit around, making nothing of himself, hoping fruitlessly that perhaps Magneto would return to him someday having miraculously recovered his powers… but nobody would miss him. Kitty was being wasted, however.

He had come full circle now, and arrived back at their room at almost exactly the same time as Kitty. She looked almost scared as he approached, but succeeded in hiding it fairly well beneath a brave face.

"I was thinking we might… might as well go look for some jobs."

…

Kitty was not as bad company as he would have anticipated. The main reason for this was that she didn't seem particularly eager to make conversation.

Being out with an attractive young girl also appealed to the conceit in John. As Magneto's henchman he had been feared, and as a tramp he had been repulsive. Now when people watched from the corners of their eyes, he knew it was because both he and Kitty were so good-looking.

These were the main reasons he didn't suggest they split up. Why she didn't, he couldn't say, but she certainly seemed quite jittery and remained quite close to him as they walked along. What the hell was her problem? He almost opened his mouth to ask her outright, when she pointed and said,

"Look! Help wanted, over there," and she made a beeline for the café with the sign in the window.

…

"What a horrid man!" she pouted as they stepped back down onto the pavement. Now it was nearing five o' clock and night was closing in.

"If you want a job you're gonna have to lower your standards," John shrugged, though he knew she wouldn't have lasted a week in there. The proprietor had been lecherous toward her, rude toward him, and dismissive of them both when it was revealed they had no references. The building had also been a bit grubby and the customers a bit shady-looking.

"I don't see why," she replied. It was clear to them both she was lying.

A wintery breeze blustered by them, rustling their hair and coats. Kitty instinctively shivered and sidled closer to his side. "Perhaps we should go home."

In all honesty, John wasn't too keen on an evening spent at home with a girl who not only probably hated him but was also in a state of misery. But did he have a choice?

"What's for dinner?" he asked as they trudged through the snow. It came across as a bit brazen but was better than what he really wanted to say, which was 'Can I take some of your money and go to a pub?'

Dinner turned out to be microwave-heated Chinese. Not quite on a par with breakfast but considering he had missed lunch and, oh, pretty much every meal for the past few months, he was a bit hungry.

They ate in the living area. He sat on the sofa, she on the floor with her legs crossed.

All was silent until she unexpectedly broke it.

"You're so thin." The sadness in her tone startled him.

"Yeah, so're you," he grumbled through a mouthful of sweet-and-sour sauce.

She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. It was the first real sign of sass he had yet seen in her, and maybe reassured him a little bit that she still was Kitty Pryde. "But seriously. Where have you been since… since…?"

"Pretty much where you found me," he shrugged, not liking the way the conversation was going but so indebted to her he was obliged to answer her questions. Still, he couldn't look up to meet the gaze he knew would be pitying.

"We thought you were dead," she murmured after a few moments.

"That's nice to know."

"I'm sorry. Just – some of us were really sad."

He wanted to look at her now, but was reluctant to show any signs of caring. "What a shame for them."

He did glance up in time to see her cheeks flare with colour. "You're so ungrateful! You don't know when you've got it good. The X-Men, they were good! They could have been good _for you_. And you throw it all away. Now look at you! And when people care, you throw it back in their faces!"

If she hadn't been so hungry too, she might have stormed off.

"I don't owe anyone anything," he seethed, not quite bringing himself to add, '_except you_.' "If they're so great, why did you leave?"

She couldn't avoid the question forever.

He saw the cogs turning.

She hesitated.

"I had to escape." She sounded uneasy.

"What from?"

Now she looked on the verge of tears and he wondered how wise he had been in pursuing the issue.

"I… I have to go to bed!" And with that, she leapt to her feet and bolted to the bedroom, phasing straight through the door.

He wouldn't ordinarily have tidied up after himself, but this was still really her home though it might have been officially in his name (St. John was still safe – it was only Pyro who was a fugitive). As he collected the cardboard boxes, he listened to the faint sounds of sobbing coming from behind the closed door.


End file.
